


Alt Max is My Hero

by Desslok



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/F, more tags to come, sacrifice chloe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 04:38:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14488989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desslok/pseuds/Desslok
Summary: Post Sacrifice Chloe.  This story is an attempt to tell the mirror opposite tale from my "Save Max Caulfield" story.  Chloe is dead, her powers are gone, and Max remembers it all. How can she go on with all these timelines in her head, things she knows happened but didn't, things that never happened but should have. Pre-Max and Real Max are gone. Alt Max never existed, but Alt Max was the coolest person ever. Maybe Max can learn something from all the Maxes.





	Alt Max is My Hero

Of course, Max returned during the funeral. It seemed appropriate somehow. First the nausea, then the flashes of images, the bright lights, the spinning world, the 'photos' tearing and reforming, rebuilding the timeline once again, giving her only the briefest of clues as to what changed or how.

This time, she’d gone back to the very beginning, to the blue butterfly in the bathroom, the moment when everything had changed. They say that some cultures believe that taking a photograph steals the soul of the subject. Maybe taking the picture of the butterfly stole its powers, gave her the ability to alter time, power Max now knew she was ill prepared to wield properly.

Wait, had she had the powers before she took the picture? She couldn’t even remember any more.

All her life, she’d felt like an observer, watching the world as if through a windowpane or on a screen. She’d watch and listen, rarely opening up to others, making some friends almost by happenstance among the other folks who also lived on the edges of the “real world,” whatever that is.

That touch of power had granted her the chance to proactively change things, for the better she’d thought. She could stop a prank, support a friend, punish a bully… save lives.

Save Chloe.

‘Who am I to save anyone? What gave me the right to choose to save a life or to sacrifice one?’

Chloe knew. She figured it out long before Max did. No single person deserves that kind of power, least of all the shy, scared hipster girl slipping through the shadows of the world around her.

Chloe knew, and she made Max accept what she’d already figured out, deep down. Those powers weren’t for her. However she’d gotten them, they weren’t for her and every attempt to make things better just made everything worse for everyone. So, Max went back to before the very beginning of it all and now, here she was.

At her funeral.

Chloe’s funeral.

Max held it together long enough to slip away behind a tree before she threw up…

 

They had a shuttle from the cemetery back to the school, so Max didn’t have to face Joyce at all. She just couldn’t. Not after what she’d done to her. Even if Joyce would never know, Max knew and that was enough.

It felt odd to see Victoria Chase at the funeral and for a few moments Max wondered if maybe she’d slipped into that other timeline, the one where she and Victoria had… but no. It was too much to try to sort out what the memories from that sojourn meant, let alone her new reality, so she did what she’d learned to do best, slunk away and isolated herself.

 

The good thing about keeping a journal, it provided a quick summary of what she’d missed. This timeline, the original, restored timeline now that Max had gone back to before she’d messed anything up, well, it took a while to recall the Max she’d been before: the Max who had ignored her best friend for years because she couldn’t deal with real grief and then couldn’t deal with real guilt. What a surprise to that Max when the cops mentioned the name of the dead girl, the blue-haired stranger who had bled out on the tiles before her eyes while she stood and screamed.

Real Max, or What Should Have Been Max, whoever that girl who only existed for a week was, she’d learned along with the rest of the world as the police dug answers out of Nathan, as they scrambled to prevent Jeffershit from destroying evidence, barely beating him to the bunker. Max quickly saw the depth to which the Prescotts owned Arcadia Bay in the clippings Real Max put in the journal, correctly holding that scumbag culpable, but never mentioning or even asking where he’d gotten the funds for his little project. Sympathetic profiles of the disturbed young man groomed and exploited, even if true, still made her stomach churn. Sean Prescott clearly owned the newspaper as well as the police.

Max read angsty paragraphs, chock full of guilt about how she’d missed the chance to reconnect with Chloe and how it was now too late and she’d never to get to tell her how much she meant to her and blah and blah, pages and pages of it. It bounced off. That kind of guilt felt cute, comforting even. How lovely if that had been the only guilt, that she’d just _ignored_ her now-tragically-murdered-former best friend instead of actively _choosing_ to let her die.

That Max had no idea what real guilt was.

 

It took a while before she broke herself of the habit. Every time something went wrong, she’d lift her hand and gesture, waiting for time to roll back and let her fix things, but of course, the powers were gone. Kate actually noticed and asked her why she kept doing that, but Max managed to change the subject.

At least Kate Marsh still lived.

Of course, the mean girls had pulled down their video as soon as the shit hit the fan. No doubt they had no desire to get swept up in the investigation. Maybe the sight of a dead body being wheeled out of the school on a gurney provided some perspective, but who could know. The papers actually did a good job of keeping Kate’s name out of their stories, but word had apparently spread back to Blackwell that she’d been roofied by Nathan. Max figured that Victoria and her minions worried that they’d be implicated or something so no website, no more taunting, the Vortex Club left Kate Marsh alone.

Thoughts of the Vortex Club gave Max migraines. Sometimes, she found it hard to parse out the memories of Pre-Max, Real Max, and whatever Max she was now. She dubbed the Max from the “William lives” timeline Alt Max, since she had nothing in common with Pre-Max, Real Max or herself. She was like the Mirror Universe Max, though she didn’t think Alt Max was evil. Alt Max’s journal, her texts… during that brief overwrite of her life, it felt like someone had waved a wand over Max and taken away all her social anxiety, her self-doubt, all of her stupid hang-ups and underneath all of it was this confident, popular girl who still loved photography and indie music, who still cared about things, but who actually had the courage to engage the world instead of keeping herself apart from it.

Alt Max was a badass and kind of her hero.

Still, those Vortex Club kids who basked in the glory of friendship with Alt Max, a person who clearly did not let them get up to their bullying bullshit… those weren’t _her_ Vortex Club kids. This Max got the versions who had no one to regulate their baser instincts, who let Victoria run roughshod over them, Victoria and Nathan. Maybe that universe was the good one and this one was the Evil Mirror Universe, but then again that was the universe that saw fit to put Chloe in a goddamned wheelchair and make her beg Max to kill her, so yeah, fuck that universe too.

 

One silver lining to grieving is that people leave you alone. Wells, as always, did the bare minimum to cover his ass: free A for all Jeffershit’s students, free counseling for anyone who wanted it. Max heard he even threatened to get rid of the Vortex Club, before a bunch of calls from alumni changed his tune. Whatever. She hadn’t even expected him to do as much as he did.

At least it looked like Kate was taking advantage of the counselor. Max spotted her heading into the woman’s office a couple days after the funeral. She even considered going herself, before realizing how that would have gone: tell the truth and get committed, tell lies and what’s the point.

Anyway, as stated, people leave you alone when you’re grieving, so Max easily slid back into her all-too-familiar role in the shadows, watching the world go by. Real Max didn’t see fit to include it in her journal, so Max didn’t know what kind of talk she had had with Warren, but obviously she’d said something. He seemed to be with Brooke now, which was fine with her. Objectively, she knew she could probably use a friend but given that she’d let the very best friend she’d ever had die horribly, Max doubted she deserved another. She and Warren made some small talk in Chemistry, but he accepted her excuses far too easily. No one wants to upset the grieving girl, even if no one really gets why she’s so upset about someone she’d never once mentioned knowing.

Of course, Max never went anywhere near the Two Whales. Pre-Max hadn’t, Real Max hadn’t, so why would she? To see a broken Joyce serving coffee to surly truckers while she tried to deal with the fact that she’d lost her husband and her only child? No thanks. Max felt broken enough without adding that trauma.

For the first week Max barely said more than a sentence or two to anyone, mostly out of grief, partly due to the struggle to reconcile the multiple Maxes. The journal helped, but she still had timelines overlapping in her head, the ones she’d lived and the ones she’d interfered with.

Take Kate, for example. Here, Max eventually pieced together that the mean girls had never taken the step of setting up a website and posting their video. In fact, as far as she could tell, they’d completely obliterated it almost immediately after Nathan’s arrest. If the cops had had any interest in actually prosecuting Nathan Prescott, that might have been a problem, but, of course, they didn’t. No posted video meant no hate mail from Aunt Bitch, no family drama, just the initial taunting from Taylor and Victoria. Painful, yes, but apparently not painful enough to drive the poor girl to kill herself, or to try. Good. Max would take victories wherever she could.

Sorting out her feelings toward the mean girls proved a challenge as well. During her ill-fated attempts to fix the world, she’d learned about Taylor’s mother’s illness. She’d learned about the pressure to succeed and the gallery rejections which plagued Victoria. Max could see her still, lying on the floor of the Dark Room, begging her to help her. She recalled the now-postponed party where she’d sorta bonded with both girls, Courtney too.

On top of all that, Alt Max. She’d not been in that timeline long, but long enough to know that Court and T had been good friends, sweet girls who cared about others, fun to hang with, caring and kind when not in their “feral Beta” mode.

And Victoria. Even Max couldn’t miss what she saw in how Alt Victoria looked at Alt Max, at the feelings behind the texts. She didn’t know if Alt Max and Alt V were lovers already or only on the way. Hell, even Pre-Max had crushed on Victoria, before the meanness burned the crush out of her.

Having someone care for her, take the role of “queen bee” off her hands, tell her… no, _remind_ her how wonderful she was, having someone love her… that had made Alt Victoria such a different person. Was that potential there in Real Victoria?

Did it matter?

Heroes get the girl. Whatever the hell Max was, she was no hero. Heroes don’t let their friends die.

\---xxx----

Victoria Chase laid on her bed staring at the ceiling, desperately trying to will herself to sleep. One week since the funeral, two weeks almost since her world exploded and sleep still did not come easily. She knew she was spiraling again. The counselor, Ms. Marks, had tried to provide her with some methods to figure out when she was starting and help her get out of it. The methods came easier in her office than in the dark of night, alone in her room.

“No… please…” 

At first, Victoria could barely make out the distant noise. Now, the sounds had grown loud enough for her to make out individual words. A normal person, hearing cries for help and mercy, would have darted up immediately to provide aid. Victoria Chase knew she was nothing like normal, but after a few minutes, her curiosity overcame her lethargy.

Cracking open her door, she discerned quickly that the noise came from across the hall, from Max’s room. As she carefully stepped out into the hallway, she noticed a sudden streak of light to her left. Kate Marsh poked her head out of her door, making awkward eye contact with Victoria. Neither girl spoke as each approached Max’s closed door.

“I can’t… please… don’t….”

Victoria’s eyes widened, and she turned to Kate. Somehow the dark of night, the oppressive silence broken only by Max’s tortured cries, momentarily erased social boundaries. As Victoria lifted her hand to knock on Max’s door, Kate tugged at her sleeve and nodded back toward her own room. Frowning, Victoria let Kate lead her away.

Victoria gave Kate’s room only the briefest perusal as she settled onto her desk chair, noting the crosses on the wall, the rabbit cage, the music stand. “We can’t just ignore that,” she said quietly as Kate sat on the bed.

“I don’t think we should ignore it,” Kate replied, “but I don’t think waking her out of a nightmare is the best answer.”

“You don’t think that she… that Jefferson…” Victoria struggled to process the implications of what she’d heard. “I mean, I never heard that she was one of…”

“His victims?” Kate replied, staring at the floor.

Victoria didn’t answer. She’d learned shortly after Jefferson’s arrest that an empty portfolio with her name on it had been found in what the press called “the Dark Room.” She’d visited Nathan at the jail once, to ask him if he’d known. He’d claimed that he hadn’t, but she didn’t know what to believe and hadn’t gone back since.

An empty binder was far different than a full binder, though, and Victoria knew that among the many found, one had had Kate’s name on it.

“I can’t imagine…” she whispered, feeling the full impact of what had almost happened to her, what had happened to the girl in front of her in a rare burst of empathy.

Kate sighed heavily and looked up, willing Victoria to meet her gaze. When she finally did, Kate said, “I don’t remember anything really, just a bright white light. Ms. Marks says that it’s not healthy to fixate on what might have happened, to speculate.” Kate took a deep breath, then added, “Oh, Ms. Marks is the counselor…”

“I know who she is,” Victoria interrupted, looking away. “I’ve been… I mean…”

Kate nodded and reached out to pat Victoria’s knee. “It’s ok. She’s been helping me a lot. I hope she’s helped you, too.”

“Some,” Victoria admitted. “More than most of my therapists have anyway.” She shook her head and refocused. Victoria Chase did not do “heart to heart talks” with Kate Marsh! “What are we going to do about Max?” As always when she thought about Max Caulfield, Victoria felt her emotions swirl inside her, so she hastily added, “I mean, how am I supposed to get any sleep with her screaming every night!”

“Maybe we can convince her to go to the counselor?” Kate asked.

“Maybe you can,” Victoria scoffed. “Maxine Caulfield and I are hardly on speaking terms, let alone in a place where I would offer her advice.”

Kate nodded and stared at her rabbit.

Again, the oppressive weight of the late hour folded them in awkward silence. Perhaps that odd twilight time encouraged serious conversations, broke down the barriers that marked the daylight. Perhaps the counseling had helped both girls be more honest with themselves. Whatever the reason, to the surprise of both, Kate broke the silence.

“Why did you do it, Victoria?”

The words “Do what?” died on Victoria’s lips as she met Kate’s intense eyes. She felt a piece of herself break, one more shard of her soul cracked. Why not be honest. What could it possibly matter now.

“Because I could,” she replied flatly. Her quiet words flowed in an emotionless monotone. “Because being at the top requires someone to be on the bottom. Because everyone hates preachy bible-thumping ‘just say No’ types, especially hypocritical ones who leave their Abstinence Club meetings to go to parties, get drunk, and make out with anyone with a pulse.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Kate said in a hollow voice, “I had maybe half a cup. Your best friend drugged me.”

“Well I know that now!” Victoria insisted, her voice heating up. The sudden increase in volume scared both of them and Victoria settled down. Her well-practiced excuses, her oft-repeated litany of reasons why none of it was her fault, all the words queued up vanished in the dim light of Kate’s room.

“I hated you because you seemed to be a much better person than me,” she said instead. “And when I saw you at the party, I latched onto the proof that everyone is just as twisted and fucked-up inside as I am and wanted to make the world see it. I was actually going to set up a fucking website and post that video.” Victoria laughed harshly. “That’s how fucked up I am. Should I have known that something weird was going on? Sure. Would a good person have tried to help you instead of filming you? Yep. But we both know I’m not a good person. I’m a bitch. I hope that helps. I did what I did because I’m a horrible human being.”

Kate didn’t say anything in response to this, simply processed it. She pondered Victoria’s words, tried to understand the circumstances that might lead a person to act the way Victoria did. She knew she tended to martyr herself, but despite that ended up focusing on one particular piece of Victoria’s rant.

“I’m sorry, Victoria.”

Victoria looked up, stunned. “What…” she took a breath and composed herself. “What the flying fuck do you have to be sorry for, Kate?”

“One thing you said,” Kate explained, “about no one liking being preached to about their life choices. I didn’t really think about how people might react to my Abstinence Club flyers. Based on the graffiti, I guess most people don’t like them.”

“You are seriously going to apologize… to _me_ … right now? Fuck that. I’m the one who should apologize, but Chases Don’t Apologize,” Victoria concluded bitterly, quoting words she’d heard hundreds of time since she was a toddler.

More than anything else Victoria had said, this last bothered Kate the most. She leaned forward, resisting a odd urge to take the blonde girl's hands in her own. “Victoria, we all make mistakes, but if we never apologize, we can never be forgiven.”

“I thought you people were all about forgiveness.”

“We are but you need to be able to forgive yourself too.”

Victoria yanked her hands away from Kate and stood up, desperately willing herself not to cry. “I don’t fucking deserve forgiveness, Kate. I’m a hateful bitch and I’m getting exactly what I deserve.”  Without waiting for any reply, she left and darted back to her own room.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've had some Writer's Block and this story has come together in chunks over the last couple weeks. I have no clue where it's going, but wanted to get something posted to force myself to see it through. "Save Max Caulfield" blew past the angst to get to the fluff pretty quickly, but I think this one will linger far longer in the Angst Zone. Rest assured, I rarely if ever do unhappy endings, so I suspect these crazy mixed-up kids will get their act together eventually!


End file.
